Colours!What is it to be a man?
We, as a species, are flawed. Insane, impossible and brilliant. Beautiful in our colours. Blue, red, green, brown, yellow, orange, purple.
We exist through each other. The colours painted through life.
They are flawed. Impossible and brilliant. Beautiful in our colours.
Politics; the pallet with which we forever stain the canvas of life. We instinctively, biologically, lie, corrupt and cheat to survive.
But we are flawed. Brilliant. Beautiful in our colours.
Yet why do we help? Profit, maybe; personal gain through relationships. But we are capable of emotion. Thought. Memory. There is no reason for us to be as we are.
Because we are flawed. And we are beautiful in our colours! We are impossible and we are brilliant in our colours. Blue, red, green, yellow, orange, purple.
SanityThe room was dark, very dark. It was one of those few places that exuded fear; even men with the cleanest conscious would instinctively draw their coats about them and force sinister thoughts as to what impossible shames lurked in the deep obscurity far from their minds. This small chamber had long-since been shut off from the world, forsaken, as a result, it seemed to contain nothing other than darkness; no memories of past joy, not a single thought had managed to penetrate the blinding dark. While being singularly intangible, there was an unquestionable physicality to the darkness, as if yet undecided on how to manifest itself. If one was so inclined, a separate darkness may be perceived within the thick gloom, one that was significantly and yet only fractionally, different to its counterparts.
This belonged to The Man. So long had he spent in penitent repose, that he had learned to drown out the incessant cries from outside by focussing on his surroundings; or lack thereof. By shro